The Ocean Permeation
by April in Paris
Summary: "Long ago, Sheldon set out on a journey of discovery. But, one day, unexpectedly, the wind blew in from a new direction and he found himself crashing into an island fortress." And so begins the balled of Sheldon's love for Amy. Companion to The Fortress Infiltration. BOTH CANON & SHAMYVERSE


_**Like its companion story, this little ode to the love Sheldon has for Amy starts canonical but then follows some of the events in my 'Shamyverse.' However, I am hopeful that because it only touches on those events that it can be understood by all. Enjoy!**_

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 **The Ocean Permeation**

There are times when Sheldon looks at her and he feels that his lungs are collapsing and not because he is frightened.

Not because she is breathtakingly beautiful, although she is (those eyes! those lips! that bottom!). Nor because she had done something shocking and forward, although there are those moments, too. His lungs are collapsing, squeezing shut, with the pressure of joy, the lack of oxygen that comes from sharing such a small, cramped space in the universe with her.

Long ago, Sheldon set out on a journey of discovery. A lone voyage because no one else had the acumen to understand him. Because he had already discovered his wisdom was too vast to be contained, and it needed to roam free upon the sea. He set out alone, even if that meant he would always be alone. He found the emotions of others made it difficult to think, and his brain only found the room to breathe upon the open water. He would search the water and the sky above for the answers to the unanswerable questions, and leave the mundane emotions to those crowded on land. But even upon his raft of knowledge, he subconsciously misses a shelter from the winds of fear.

His boat was sound and secure. He was a voyager, like Magellan and Columbus and Cook before him, traveling alone without sight of even an island to protect him.

But, one day, unexpectedly, the wind blew in from a new direction and he found himself crashing into an island fortress. He decides to stay, just for a moment, and moor his boat because he finds that he has missed the solidness of land. He agrees to take shelter from his storms there.

And so it begins.

These are the first things he respects about her, because this is an intellectual relationship: Her brain, of course. For him, as it always is, it is her intelligence that starts everything. It is deep and sharp and thick. Even with all his answers, parts of it contains questions he has never heard. Her bluntness and vanity. Her articulate conversation.

However, no one, not even this fortress of Athena, this ode to strength, is perfect. One day they decide together with perhaps too much anger in their voices that they have fundamentally different views on science and so they will go their separate ways.

Oddly enough, he now finds himself lost upon his sea. It is suddenly bizarre, this feeling of floating free. He takes on a feline passenger, but it does not fill the deepest void in the expanse of void that is the ocean. He does not believe in fate, but the scientist in him knows he must figure this out. If someone is both forbidden and comforting to him, he needs to figure out why.

And so it begins all over again.

But neither of them knows it yet. Neither of the comprehend the events Zazzles has set in motion. In a singular meteorological event, he has found the ability to adjust, to stretch himself just far enough that one day a single drop of his ocean makes over the top of her fortress. He does not realize he has found his way in, to her stronghold, until much later. But much later, he cannot deny when it occurred.

Looking back, the first sign was the second he realizes there might be an intruder on this island of peace. He does not want to attend the pair-bonding party of those he does not know; he fled others in the first place to find peace and quiet to think. But then another, part-time voyager he trusts enjoys his brief visit to the fortress too much. He cannot help but lash out at this friend that his fortress is not for others.

These are the things he likes about her, for the word love is not in his lexicon: Her brain. Her creativity. Her eagerness to try experiments with him, scientific or otherwise. That she sees the same flaws in the members of his social group, and that she agrees to sit next to him and buffer him from these flaws. That her advice actually proves to be helpful. When he discovers she plays the harp. When he discovers she dances. Her smile. Her laughter.

However, nothing, not even this feeling of something solid creeping around him, is perfect. She does not watch science fiction. She likes to cackle with other females. She is confining. She is greedy. She wants to cuddle. One day, thinking perhaps he was wrong after all, he gives another permission to tie up his boat to this fortress because he does not want to be contained (although, even though he will not admit it, he knows it is not so).

In what will become the most bizarre day of his life, Sheldon finds himself adrift. The ocean is too vast and frightening without her. He feels too soft without her biting words to sharpen the edges of his mind. So he goes back himself, asking her to take him, to allow this thing, whatever it is, to become permanent.

And so it begins afresh.

But neither of them acknowledge it yet. Oh, there is a signed, stamped, notarized agreement. There is the fascinating feel of her lips one night. There is the comforting feel of her hand when he finds even the sky is too large for him. But he does not acknowledge that she is holding ever more of him.

These are the things he is confused by: Her brain. The way she says "my boyfriend." The little line behind the bridge of her glasses when she is confused or angry. That he is unwilling to let go of her sweaty palm at the movies. That she is incapable of subtlety. That she agrees to help keep the parking space that is rightfully his. The feel of her bottom when he smacks it. Her smile. Her laughter.

However, nothing, and most especially this strange situation, is perfect. She has affectionate feelings at inappropriate times. Which is all the time. That she wants to wear matching costumes. That she presents a series of logical arguments he cannot refute. That she wants to touch him all the time. One day, in pain and embarrassment, she pulls away from him, casting him away from her protection.

In spite of his prior rejections of her needs, it is the look on Amy's face that he returns to, asking her to be patient, admitting to her that he is trying. Bewildered at his own actions, he picks up a die and gives her the game he knows she wants.

And so it haunts him.

It is not spoken of again. He refuses to mention the game, he refuses to retrieve the die. But he cannot help but remember the words uttered by them in hushed and awkward excitement. He cannot stop thinking about it, cannot stop thinking about her thinking about it, and he finds the titillation it brings mortifying. He snaps at her, anything to deaden the tingling memory.

Only after months of hiding and snarling does it happen. Suddenly, he feels the water in him build until the dam breaks, and he rushes to meet her lips. He knows, in that moment, all that pressure can only be relieved in the exhilaration that is her kiss. He cannot stop, he does not want to stop, coming in weekly, like a tide. To her, to her lips, finding the crag for which he has been desperately grasping.

And so it starts.

These are things he is surrounded by: Her brain, especially the new feverish aspects. The twinkle in her eyes when she's almost-aroused. The curve of her cardigan over her breasts. The taste of her lip balm. The smell of her hair so close to him, the tendrils tickling his neck. The husky timbre of her voice after he touches her. The velvet skin of her earlobe. The look in her eyes. The obvious-but-never-mentioned desire for more he feels radiating from her. Her smirk, especially the new one she gives when she knows he wants to cross the room to kiss her. Her laughter, which fuller now.

However, no where, not even this castle of passion is perfect. He is frightened of the power his body now has over him. He is uncertain if this is good for his life's work. Is she not concerned about the number of germs? What is it she means when she says she trusts him? She is too patient, too soft, too warm. He thinks, and is ashamed of how much, that he longs to give into this strange tugging on the edge of his mind.

On Halloween, the scariest night of the year, he recognizes his nightmare. She will shut the door to her fortress forever. He realizes how frightened he is to be alone again, cold and battered by the wind. Across the ocean, across the dance floor, across the divide, he goes to her. It has been Amy, all along Amy, harboring him, shielding him, truly holding him together, silently telling him that she loves him.

And so it emerges.

These are the things he is finally willing to admit: He loves her brain. He loves the feel of her breast beneath his hand. He loves eating breakfast with her. He loves watching her read in his kitchen. He loves when she agrees to be his roommate. He loves that it is moving quickly. He loves that she has the power to make him want to be a better man for her. He loves that she calms him. He loves her. Oh, how he loves her!

However, not even this sanctuary he has found from the sun is perfect. Loving Amy, being loved by Amy, is still confusing. For all her brilliance, she fails to see the need to arrange things his way. She is obstinate. She can still be greedy. She can still be stubborn.

Later, he learns that everyone else thinks was bizarre. But to him, to them, it was the most obvious thing in the world. If they were going to be with each other that way (and why had no one ever told him how good this way was before!), then they were going to be together in every way. It was the same thing to them, sex and marriage. She surrounds him and he pours himself into her. It is Amy, at long last Amy, his alone in more meanings of the word than he ever considered he would discover. He has never been happier.

And so they are forever. What an odd concept.

These are the things he loves (that word he was frightened of for so long, even though no other will ever do): Her brain, and how he has decades to try and understand it. The way she says "my husband." Playing chess with her. That she watches _Star Trek_ with him. The way her hair fans out on the pillow. That delicious Bolognese sauce she makes, but especially the way she continues to read even while stirring it. When Amy not-quite-teases him about being a sentimental old fool, and he not-quite-pretends that he is offended. The way she helps him through adversity. When she softly tilts her head, which he has learned means she wants him to seriously consider something but will allow him to come to a conclusion on his own. That she assumes Book Club will continue, and that he wouldn't dream of stopping it. Her smile, which is his smile. Her laughter, which is his laughter.

These are the things that still astound him (although he does understand that, too, is love): That she seems incapable of producing her own body heat after nine in the evening. That she obsesses over random things like the recycling, but tries to bargain that the bathrooms only need cleaned every other week. That she insists on a king size bed, and yet he wakes up nearly every morning to her head on his pillow. That he cannot determine the schedule for her insatiable chai tea latte cravings. How much he desires this woman, who has not just the strength of Athena but also the beauty of Aphrodite, who comes upon the scallop shell (and the bed and the floor and his spot and, if he's really good, twice in a row), despite the noise and the sweat and mess of it all. That the conclusion he will eventually come to will invariably be the one that Amy has already deemed correct. That she used her fortress as a temple and created, deep within her, another little person for which he miraculously found even more love.

Just like realizing he loves her, realizing he is a permanent part of this island, learning to be her husband, is difficult. She may be patient and intelligent, but she is still Amy. She can be sarcastic and emotional and particular in illogical ways. Perhaps because he has always sought her strength, he is surprised by how much her stubbornness can frustrate him at times. But they are learning together, and that is the glue that keeps him there, even when something confuses and overwhelms him. They go to each other, to find peace and tranquility.

He knows that now he can fling away his boat. He doesn't need it anymore, anyway. It is growing rotten and dilapidated from lack of use. He has gotten use to the presence of the others - Leonard, Penny, Howard, Raj, Stuart, even Bernadette - on the shore by now, anyway.

But he will not. If he lets it go, Amy may relax her support of him. And he would miss the reminder of his life alone, and the reminder of how much better his life is now, surrounded by her. Because, most of all, he loves the way she wraps him in her embrace, keeping his heart safe.

THE END

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 _ **Thank you in advance for your reviews! And if you liked this story, the companion work is entitled**_ **The Fortress Infiltration** _ **.**_


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